


Replacement

by windybutts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 01:43:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windybutts/pseuds/windybutts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has died three different times before Louis' eyes. Louis swears that he won't let it happen again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Replacement

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really sorry for what you're about to read.

It had started with a walk to the park.

Harry was a flower child at heart, always wanting to go out and explore, to take a walk and meet nature and cling to it (“to touch the grass, connect with the trees and hear them speak, Lou. They feel, too.”), and with the pleading look he gave Louis as they sat across from each other at the table was hard to deny. Harry’s eyes, wide and glistening—and,  _Christ_ , were those tears?—were practically begging him, so Louis relented, slipping on a clean pair of jeans, a jumper and shoes before following Harry out the flat and towards the park.

Harry was always several steps ahead, bouncing every so often, full of life and energy and Louis couldn’t bite back the smile that came to his face because Harry was adorable when he got like this. By the time Louis had caught up with Harry, he was flat on the grass on his back, smile so wide and bright it was blinding, and he looked so in his element that Louis never wanted anything more then to snap a photo and capture the moment. 

Harry rolled over, sitting up and extended his arm, holding out a flower towards Louis and the Doncaster lad was  _this close_  to just leaning down and taking a hold of that boys face and kissing him until he couldn’t differentiate between his up and his down. As he leaned over to grab it, a blur slapped the flower down, and his eyes moved over to meet green slitted ones. A black cat without tags, eyes focused on the flower that was now dangling to and fro before it’s eyes. It’s paw came out and swat again, and Harry looked like a child on Christmas, forgetting all about giving the flower away and playing with the animal instead. It was equally cute, so Louis chose to ignore that his gift was pretty much given away to a cat.

Harry was better with animals then he ever was, anyway. 

He saw the question in Harry’s eyes before it was asked, and Louis’ gaze fell away, but he knew there was no reason to say no. No reason to deny Harry, (“Lou, it can be ours. No collar!”) and, alright, Harry could have the damn cat because he was already cradling it, the cat’s paws a striking contrast against Harry’s white shirt. It nuzzled Harry’s neck and if the feline could make Harry beam like that, then, yeah. They were keeping the damn cat.

It’s tail swished languidly as they began to walk again, Harry gaining ahead like usual, mumbling out loud the kinds of food it ate and what he was going to name it once he got it a proper bath. Louis was about to smile again, but the cat was staring at him, unblinking—almost unfazed of anything around him, gaze intent—and suddenly, without warning, it jumped out of Harry’s arms. Harry stopped in his tracks, trying to reach to grab the animal back but it was quickly getting away, and Harry followed, calling out to it. And—

the first time Harry happened to die, it was an accident.

Harry, fucking Harry didn’t hear the blare, didn’t look away from the cats fleeting form. He just had to catch it, had to bring it back because it was his cat.  _Their_ cat, and it was important.

“HARRY!”

The second wail of the horn caught the boys attention, and as soon as his gaze flickered left, the world stopped moving for Louis. It was like watching a wreck on television: unbelievable but horrifically real. Everything was white noise, and he could see people running, mouthing for help. Someone. Anyone. _Help._

And when the sound finally filtered in, he realized that someone was screaming. It didn’t sound human. It took a minute to realize it was him.  _He_  was screaming at the top of his lungs, sapphire eyes stuck on the blood pooling from Harry’s head on the paved street.

 

And a hand was to his forehead, and his eyes snapped open.

Harry’s usually bright eyes were filled with nothing but worry, staring down at him with confusion and love and Louis’ hand rose to make sure he was actually  _there_. To make sure there was no wounds, no blood. And when Louis sat up, they were in bed, duvet pulled off to the side, legs tangled together and they were not outside in the park and Harry wasn’t bleeding in the middle of the road. Harry wasn’t dead.

Harry was pushing his fringe from his face, muttering in a voice thick with concern and sleep (“You were screaming, Lou. Are you okay? Bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?”), and Louis didn’t want to think about the odd feeling of dread that should of been replaced with relief so he took Harry’s hand and kissed him on his knuckles and it was okay.

Harry wanted to go to the park.

Lou stared as Harry pleaded with the same eyes, twinkling with tears, and before his mouth could register what was said they were out the door and walking towards the park. Harry laid in the grass, smiling up at him and Louis wanted to smile back, he really did. He wanted to take the flower, but instead he grabbed Harry’s hand because— because, no. No, this was too real and it was scary and if he was dreaming again, it wasn’t going to end with Harry dying.

Confusion flitted over Harry’s features but he didn’t ask, only followed, their fingers lacing together eventually as he was tugged along because Louis never set the pace, didn’t lead but this time he was and a change of pace was fine, this time. They talked about nearly nothing, but it was comfortable now that Louis was aware they were away from the park and Harry was safe. The sound of construction was ahead, but the area was clear and Harry had a habit of peeking around places he shouldn’t of, anyway, so going past it was alright. Besides, Harry was going on a story about their mates (“—and it was so funny, because Zayn’s face, like—it was all scrunched up like  _this_ , and—”) and Louis was laughing and there was no dread. There was no issue.

Until Harry spoke up about a cat. 

Louis went to look back, but something jerked him away and he stumbled forward. There was screaming again, and he didn’t want to turn as he was propped on his hands and knees. Because no. No, no, no, no, no—

And he couldn’t even see Harry from the metal beam that Louis wish he didn’t know he was underneath. He couldn’t see anything from underneath, not an arm or a leg or something to signify he was there but all he could see was green slits and black fur and he was screaming without hearing a thing.

 

He was trembling and before his eyes opened Louis knows it’s Harry’s hand on his forehead, his soft voice murmuring to him in his ear. He only reached out and touched Harry on the back of his neck, rubbing circles there absently.

This time, when Harry asked to go to the park, Louis said no.

Harry wasn’t very happy, even taken to whining (“Lou, please? It’s a waste to not go outside in this weather! Five minutes, pleeeease?”), but Louis only said he wanted to spend a lazy day with Harry and that he was still a bit shaken up from his dream, and that made Harry take his hands and bring him to the couch. 

They watched movies the majority of the time, stealing kisses and touches and Louis felt better, felt safer because Harry was curled up against him, head tucked under his chin and away from the park. Away from things that could harm him. Eventually, Harry went up to use the bathroom and Louis fixed them tea, handing Harry his and smiled when he had to still blow against the steam, brows furrowing in concentration. Harry managed to convince him to sit on the patio in exchange for him unable to get his walk in the park, and they talked for a while. Louis finally was at ease, finally pushing away that dread that had made home in his stomach lining. His gaze flickered upwards, towards the table across from them and—

Slitted eyes, swishing tail.

And he didn’t turn when Harry started to choke, the sound of china shattering against the stone or when he gasped Louis’ name and when his hand gripped at Louis’ thigh, he—

 

Woke up on his own, eyes trained on the ceiling, feeling a familiar weight on his chest, keeping him grounded underneath the duvet. A soft yawn and Harry’s good morning kiss almost made Louis crumple—thoughts of this never being real, a loop playing over and over and over…

and this time, he followed Harry to the park, watching him roll around in the grass. Saw his smile, reached for the flower and stared back the cat, straight  in the eyes as it prepared to launch itself off Harry’s shoulder. Followed when Harry began after it, and grabbed the lanky teen by the back of his shirt and yanked hard enough to move him backwards, feet scraping back onto the curb.

The blare was all he heard before it was black again.


End file.
